


Knotted

by shini02



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin: The Animated Series
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, Immortality, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3745468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shini02/pseuds/shini02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When forever is more than just a word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knotted

“So, I hear you got the job!”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
“That's great, kid!”  
  
“Don't get too excited, Genie, we both know it can't last very long. A few years at most, and then it's time to move on. Again.”  
  
“Still no reason not to get a celebratory burger.”  
  
And, as always, Genie succeeds in bringing a smile to Aladdin's face.  
  
“Yeah,” he chuckles quietly, allowing Genie to sling an arm around his shoulders and pull him close for a friendly squeeze.   
  
“You know,” Aladdin quips after a moment, the smile twisting into half-hearted grin, “the more I have to do this, the more I kind of wish I'd wished for an endless fortune when I had the chance. That would have made this mess a whole lot easier, wouldn't you agree?”  
  
Genie laughs. “Easier, sure. But not your style.”  
  
“Yeah,” Aladdin agrees, “I'd probably still be out here job hunting every few years, just for something to do.”  
  
Genie nods, truer words unable to be said. Even when Aladdin had been Sultan, he'd been restless and often had to fight the advisers and guards for a chance at even the smallest adventure. You're the Sultan, now, he'd been told, one time too many, Genie thinks, you've no time to flit about on that carpet of yours, treasure hunting or anything else of the sort!  
  
Agrabah's never known a better protector, Aladdin had confidently stated, time and time again, what good am I as Sultan if I can't even protect my own kindgom?  
  
There is an army at your beck and call, your Majesty. Your kingdom needs you right where you sit.  
  
My kingdom needs me to do what's right, and that's defending it my way. And if that means needing to leave, to, as you put it, flit about on that carpet of mine, then so be it.  
  
A sideways glance at Aladdin, and Genie knows he's thinking of the same thing. Great minds think alike, as the saying goes.  
  
But so do troubled ones, and Aladdin's cunning mind as had more than enough time to fall apart and join the leagues of insanity. While not completely off his rocker yet, Genie knows the kid isn't too far from it, but he understands, because not everyone can deal with an extended warranty on life.   
  
Neither realize until it's too late that they haven't been watching where they step, trusting the passers-by to avoid them. Except, there's one that doesn't, and Aladdin walks right into her, snapping him out of his reverie, only to send him straight into another.   
  
It's more the visual impact than the physical that strips him of his speech and all senses. She's there, in front of him, and he doesn't know how it's possible but he knows it's her and not a distant descendant. But, at the same time, he knows it can't be her, because she died centuries ago, old and wrinkled and peacefully at his side in her sleep. His mind is reeling and he knows how stupid he looks, but he can't help it, because she's still the most beautiful thing he'll ever lay his eyes on, and he's trying damned hard to convince himself this girl and his girl aren't one and the same.   
  
“Are you... okay?” she asks, and he thinks he feels whatever's left of his sanity shatter, because, fuck, she even has the same voice and this can't be real. But there's no magic left in the world, so it has to be real, she has to be real.   
  
He pulls himself together, slowly, carefully, because he's already earned her concern and the last thing he wants to do is frighten her. He clears his throat, rakes a hand through his hair and manages to nod.   
  
“Yeah,” he says, quietly, taking in a deep breath. “Yeah. I'm fine. Are you okay? I, uh, I didn't mean to walk into you like that.”  
  
She nods, smiling back at him, and even her smile is the same. “You should watch where you're going,”  she chuckles, “instead of walking around with your head in the clouds.”  
  
“Yeah,” he agrees sheepishly, then watches as she walks passed him, bidding him good day and something inside aches because he can't just let her leave like that. Desperate, he turns to Genie, who's still wide-eyed and slack-jawed, albeit all within a human capability, nothing too over the top, something Aladdin's grateful for.  
  
“What – ?” is all he has to ask, because Genie understands that he has more questions than he can properly voice right now, and it's a whole lot easier to sum them all up in one, simple word.   
  
“I dunno, Al,” the djinn says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, watching the girl-who-isn't-but-just-may-be walk down the street.   
  
“She looks just like her,” Aladdin says.  
  
“I know, but... But you know she can't be. There's no comin' back,” Genie says, though even he knows that doesn't explain everything. It's possible that genetics produced a descendant that looks horrifically like the once-Sultana of Agrabah, but the chances she was a replica as perfect as she were slim. The blood would be too thin by now, if it even still existed at all.  
  
And Aladdin hears him, but he isn't really listening, and for a moment he feels like himself again. Reckless and impulsive and daring, and he regrets nothing as he dashes down the street, catches up with her and walks beside her, backwards, with practiced ease. He feels faint when she gives a small start, a hand over her heart in a fashion he's too familiar with. But then she smiles and it's coy and inviting and he just can't resist, even if he wanted to.   
  
“Hello again,” she says.  
  
“Hey,” he replies.  
  
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”   
  
“I – I was just wondering if, maybe, I could have your name?”  
  
“Yasmin,” she tells him, and he stops walking because it's just too goddamn close for comfort. She comes to a halt as well, eying him curiously, but doesn't miss a beat and asks, “and you are?”  
  
“Aladdin,” he says quietly, and there's a flash of something like recognition in her eyes, but it doesn't last too long. “Al,” he goes on, “for short, if you want,” and he hopes to see that spark again.  
  
It never comes, but she does extend a hand to him, and he thinks it's an ironic turn that he's the one taking her hand this time around. “It's nice to meet you, Aladdin.”  
  
“You, too,” he says, and doesn't care if he's holding her hand just a little too tightly, “Yasmin.”  
  
  
  
Through the same miracle that brought Jasmine into his life all those years ago, Yasmin spends the rest of the day with him, then goes home with him later that night. His small apartment is nothing, he admits, but she doesn't seem to mind, too engrossed with the multitude of knick-knacks he has scattered about the place to really care about the size of it. Like the golden scarab that's split down the middle, one piece on either side of a mantle. Or the dusty red fez he has hanging on a hook behind his bedroom door.   
  
He spends a good portion of the night learning her all over again. Her favorite color is still blue, and she still loves tigers, and it kills him to think this is all just one big, bad coincidence, that this beautiful girl isn't his Arabian Princess somehow magically delivered to him again.   
  
The rest of the night is shamelessly spent tangled with her between his sheets. He doesn't question it, doesn't stop it, just lets it happen and it all feels as natural as it did way back then. It's only when he's inside of her that he loses what restraint he had, because she feels like Jasmine, and she knows all of her tricks and he can't help but call her by the Princess' name over and over again.  
  
Jasmine, Jasmine, Jasmine, like a mantra.  
  
Like it will bring her back and this will be right and he won't feel so crazy for believing this stranger could actually be his long-dead wife.   
  
But it doesn't bring her back, doesn't make it right, and he swears to Allah or God or whoever he's supposed to believe in now that he feels his mind crumble when he wakes the next morning to find her gone. There's a note in her place and he swears he's not going to break down and bawl his eyes out when he sees that her goddamn handwriting is even the same.   
  
“Genie,” he calls out, and his voice is cracked and desperate. Not a moment later, the djinn makes his appearance, and it's a small relief to see him blue instead of flesh-tone.   
  
“Genie, what am I doing?” he grinds out from between clenched teeth as he buries his face in his hands.   
  
“It's okay, Al,” Genie says, floating over to him, materializing some legs and kneeling in front of the boy and putting his large hands on those slim shoulders.   
  
“No, it's not okay!” Aladdin snaps, but Genie doesn't pull away, and for that he's thankful. “I've been a mess since I met her yesterday, and it's only getting worse the more I think about her.”  
  
Genie frowns, playing his bottom lip between his teeth for a few seconds before he speaks. “Maybe it could work – ”  
  
“Don't,” Aladdin cuts him off, moving his hands away from his face if only to glare at the blue entity before him. “Don't even think that, because you know it can't.”  
  
And Aladdin's right, and the thought isn't what counts anymore, so Genie's momentarily stumped, unsure of what to do or say to make the kid feel better.   
  
“I wish I knew what to tell ya, Al,” he says softly, and Aladdin sighs.  
  
“You could tell me to quit while I'm ahead.”  
  
“Has that ever worked?”  
  
“Well, then get ready, 'cause I'm going to go find her.”  
  
“Are you sure that's a good idea?”  
  
“I know it isn't, but I have to see her again.”  
  
  
  
The two spend days looking for her, but neither are able to find her. While this disappointed Aladdin, it intrigues Genie.   
  
“It's like someone's got her shielded,” he tells Aladdin, brow furrowed.   
  
Despite his foul mood, Aladdin laughs. “Maybe your powers just aren't what they used to be,” he jokes. “You're ten thousand years older than I am, after all.”  
  
“Ha ha,” Genie says, though he's grinning back at his friend. “Very funny.”  
  
Aladdin shrugs, plopping down on the couch in his living room. “Ah well,” he mumbles, searching blindly for the television's remote control. “Shoulda known nothing good would come of it. Nothing good ever comes of this stupid mess.”  
  
“That's not true,” Genie says as he takes a seat beside Aladdin, watching as his hand finds the remote between them.   
  
“Prove it,” Aladdin retorts, and Genie opens his mouth, then quickly closes it.   
  
“Yeah, I thought so,” the once-Sultan drawls, turning the television on. He's seen a lot of miraculous things in his time, but the good can never outweigh the bad. And it's the bad things that stick; memories of war and assassinations and ruins of a once proud desert kingdom, now long buried beneath the sand.  
  
No more words are exchanged, the only sounds filling the small apartment are those coming from the TV. He channel-surfs tirelessly, going through the channels again and again until finally he stops on a news broadcast. Not because he's interested, but because she's there, at another man's side, one hand to his shoulder as he speaks at a podium. Something about artifacts and buying and selling and Aladdin doesn't care because now he knows how to find her.   
  
He takes the man's name down, Raza Mohsin, and does a quick search on the internet to get an address, since Genie still can't seem to locate them with his magic. Once he's accomplished that, he trusts Carpet to fly them across town to the penthouse.   
  
There was a time when he could have easily picked the lock and let himself inside, but with today's alarm systems, he knows better. But that's what Genie's for.   
  
“Take us inside,” he says, and Genie's reluctant but does as commanded. He's never really been able to tell Aladdin “no”, after all.   
  
Neither notice the small blue crystal begin to flash as they enter.   
  
Inside is huge and beautiful and darkly decorated and strangely familiar, but Aladdin's too focused on finding Yasmin to spend too much time thinking about that. He makes his way to the second floor and heads into what he can only assume is her bedroom, considering it's a modern replica of the room Jasmine used to have at the palace, almost perfect – except there are those dark colors again. Midnight replacing turquoise, black replacing gold.  
  
“We shouldn't be here, Al,” Genie whispers hoarsely, miniscule and beside his ear. “This doesn't feel right.”  
  
“Shh,” Aladdin hisses, looking around the room. His knees just about buckle when he notices jasmine flowers in a vase on her bedside table. It's then that he decides if this isn't some sort of witchery, it's the mother of all cosmic jokes.   
  
“She's not here,” Genie persists. “Let's just go and come by announced another time, mmkay?”  
  
“Genie! Be quiet! I want to look around some more.”  
  
“I don't know what's worse,” a voice sounds from the doorway, “the fact that you've broken into my home, or the fact that you're rifling through my woman's belongings.”  
  
Aladdin turns on his heel to face Raza, a sheepish grin on his face. “This isn't what it looks like – ”  
  
“Oh, I know,” replies the other man, fishing a flashing blue crystal out of his pocket. “After all, you must be a special sort of thief or pervert if you can use magic.”  
  
And Aladdin stares at the crystal caught between pale, long fingers. He knows this, from long ago, in a dark kingdom covered in black sand. He feels his throat run dry and his heart pick up its pace as he looks up slowly, slowly to the man's face. He knows that face, even if the glasses obscure the look some and the hair is longer and tied back in a neat, low ponytail.  
  
Even if this man is wearing a business suit, it's all too easy for Aladdin to replace them with blue and black robes.  
  
“Mozenrath?” he asks quietly.  
  
The man in front of him quirks an eyebrow. “How do you know that name?”  
  
Aladdin grins, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don't recognize me? I haven't changed that much over the years.”  
  
Sure, he's traded in the purple vest and the baggy pants for t-shirt and jeans, and his hair isn't quite as unruly as it used to be, but for the most part, Aladdin hasn't changed.   
  
It takes less than a minute for this to dawn on Mozenrath.   
  
“Aladdin,” he says, putting the crystal back into his pocket. “I thought I was rid of you centuries ago,” he sighs.  
  
“I thought the same about you.”  
  
Mozenrath laughs, curt and hollow. “Please. As the saying goes, I had so much to do in so little time,” he raises his right hand, still gloved, “so, I borrowed time.”  
  
“Stole it, seems to be the appropriate word use,” Aladdin mutters. “You made yourself immortal.”  
  
“Quite, but it didn't go without its consequences,” the sorcerer says, glowering at the younger man now.   
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You can't possibly be that moronic, can you, Aladdin?” Mozenrath inquires, but doesn't allow Aladdin time to speak again. “Of all the spells you had to barge in on, it had to be that one.”  
  
Aladdin remembers that one. He remembers Mozenrath coming to his hovel and stealing a healthy dose of Genie's magic, and even if he had left the Genie there and intact, that had been enough to get Aladdin involved. By the time they had arrived at the citadel, the spell had been cast, and he remembers throwing himself at Mozenrath, figuring maybe he'd cut the spell short before it could take its full affect.   
  
That, apparently, had not been the case.   
  
“So, this is your fault?” Aladdin asks through gritted teeth.   
  
“Technically, it's yours,” Mozenrath counters. “You got in the way, and now this is the price paid for being so reckless and impulsive. But, really, what good is bringing that up, now? Especially when I see you've got your eye on Yasmin.”  
  
All argument was drained from Aladdin as he recalled the original reason he'd come to this place.  
  
“Her likeness to the Princess is uncanny, isn't it?” Mozenrath goes on, a grin spreading across his lips as he moves toward the bed, fingering a flower idly with his healthy hand. “It took quite a few tries before I perfected her.”  
  
“Perfected her?” Aladdin asks, eyes trained on Mozenrath even as Genie finally makes himself knowing, materializing at his full height, just in case the boy needs protection of some kind.   
  
“The age of cloning is a glorious one,” Moznerath drawls. “Combining this age's science with my magic proved to be fruitful in the end, wouldn't you agree?”  
  
Aladdin's knees give out, and a part of him is relieved to know Yasmin is Jasmine, on some level, but most of him is repulsed and disgusted and irrationally angry.   
  
“Why – ?”  
  
“Because, of all my opponents, your Princess was by far the most amusing. Unfortunately, she perished before long. And I'm sure you know first hand that immortality is a lonely business, so, I figured, why not? Why not make my own Princess, and own her in a way I never could before?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he turns to look at Aladdin again, more than pleased to see the wretched expression on his pretty-boy face.  
  
“She may not be in any position of power now, but she's mine. A small, trivial victory, but a victory nonetheless.”  
  
“You sick bastard,” Aladdin snaps.   
  
“I suppose, but you're to tell me you wouldn't have done the same if you could have? Naturally, your reasons would have been far, far different. But that wouldn't make it any better, Aladdin. It'd still be wrong, and she'd still be nothing more than pathetic replica.”  
  
“Shut up,” Aladdin says. “I get it, Mozenrath. I get it. You don't have to rub it in anymore.”  
  
Mozenrath cocks his head to the side. “Has our hero lost his will to fight?”  
  
“Not everyone wants to live forever,” Aladdin informs him, subsequently informing him that, yes, he has long since lost the will to put up any sort of fight. He thought perhaps he'd found it again in Yasmin, but he wants nothing more to do with the sorcerer's twisted creation.  
  
He wants nothing more to do with this.  
  
“It can be tiresome, I suppose,” Mozenrath says, nodding.   
  
“Why did you do it to begin with?”  
  
“Why else? I'd assumed I'd overtake the Deserts, then the world. I wanted time to enjoy it. Besides, it allowed me to remain in my body, instead of changing to something more spry every time the gauntlet drained too much from me.”  
  
“Things didn't work out that way, huh?”   
  
“Obviously not.”  
  
Aladdin gets back to his feet and offers the sorcerer a half-hearted smile. “Can the spell be reversed?”  
  
Mozenrath's brows raise. “You realize by reversing the spell, we'd die?”  
  
“What've we got to lose?” Aladdin quips, and it actually makes Mozenrath grin.   
  
Because this life has become routine and boring and it's quite obvious the world is not his to own. It just took a simple street rat for him to see this, to have his flaws shoved in his face and make him realize they've nothing left to live for. Save for maybe their rivalry, if he thinks hard on it, but even that feels dead.  
  
“Give me some time to get some things together. Maps and such. We'll need to go on a bit of a scavenger hunt before the spell can be broken.”  
  
“Sure,” Aladdin says, and after Mozenrath leaves the room, he takes a deep breath. He doesn't know how long it will take, but there's comfort in knowing all of this will be coming to an end soon enough.   
  
“You're doin' good, kid,” Genie says, a hand on his shoulder. “Real good. I don't think I've ever met anybody who didn't want to live forever.”

  
He smiles over his shoulder at the djinn. “And I don't think you ever will again.”


End file.
